


The Queen of Bronze

by adeocs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dany being a cutie, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeocs/pseuds/adeocs
Summary: Since she was three years old Rhaenys has only known one thing for sure, she must do what is necessary to keep herself and Dany alive. Lying, stealing, killing or marrying a savage Dothraki, whatever is need to survive. Even start a war.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen & Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), rhaenys targaryen / khal drogo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. A Bride for an Army

**Author's Note:**

> Neither the universe nor the characters belong to me, they are entirely by George R.R. Martin.

The magister Illyrio's mansion was really magnificent. Without a doubt, the most beautiful one they had stayed in during the last years, not that Rhaenys could complain about the homes of her previous hosts. Every time a politician, merchants or dignitaries opened the doors for them, they were blessed. But of all of them Illyrio's house was the most beautiful, with long marble corridors decorated with ivory and gold statues and a huge garden in which Rhaenys could always take refuge. But she knew that it never lasted long, all their hosts ended up getting tired of their guests when the fascination for the exiled princes disappeared altogether.

They had already taken refugee six moons in the magister's house and wondered how much they could extend their courtesy without giving him something in return, because she did not believe that any of Viserys' plans would work. Many years of disappointments had prepared her for failure. She was afraid of the moment when they had to return to the sordid inns, the disgusting houses of whores and the dangerous streets.

Illyrio had not tired of them yet, he still seemed convinced that giving them shelter would eventually bring him some kind of reward, but Viserys had made promises of great wealth to all who had gone before the old merchant. All of them had believed in them and all had given up over time. Viserys used to be very generous with the promises he made, promises he could not keep. Thirteen years had passed since any of them had set foot in their homeland and her uncle was no closer to recovering the throne that had belonged to his father than the previous year, or the one that had come before that.

They had no money, barely allies and no army to help them take their ancestors sword throne. Going back to the Seven Kingdoms was at that point little more than a simple fantasy. A beautiful dream that kept Viserys standing, but only that, a silly dream of innocent children. It had always seemed to her that they would do better if they simply renounced the claims to come back to Westeros and return to the real world. They would never return to the land where they were born, but she could not judge him for keeping that dream alive, not when she still yearned for the uncles and cousins she barely remembered and who expected in those lost kingdoms. Nor could she say that to him.

The fingerprints he had left on her arms the last time she had bothered him had already completely vanished, her dark complexion always helped to hide the marks, but she perfectly felt her hands holding her violently. He had almost slapped her for interrupting his tirade, he would have done so if one of Illyrio's servants had not called him to meet with the magister. It hadn't been her intention to piss him off more but Dany had been on the verge of tears and she couldn't contain herself. Sometimes Rhaenys felt that this was the only thing they could do now, cry.

Many years ago, what by now seemed like a lifetime, Viserys had been the sweetest child in the world, her best friend. He played with her, pretending to be Aegon the Conqueror, she was Visenya sometimes and other Rhaenys, her namesake. Balerion, the kitten her father had given her, small and fluffy, as black as night, served as a dragon running after them throughout the Red Keep. Conquering imaginary kingdoms and fighting false battles against the royal guards. He had also been good to his sister and her while they had been in exile, while things were not so bad. Then their protector died and the servants betrayed them, when the nobles of the Free Cities stopped welcoming them, they began to get rid of the few valuable things they still had left. The day they had to sell Queen Rhaella's crown was the day that Viserys' love for them died, only left anger and impossible ambitions behind.

But regardless of what the future holds, Rhaenys was determined to take advantage of what left of Ilyrio's hospitality while she could. The breeze smelled of jasmine and pale gardenias that were in full bloom, along with other more colorful plants that adorned the garden. In the shade of a canopy that protected her from the sun of Pentos she felt fresh and comfortable as almost never before. She had one of the rare books the master had brought from the other side of the world and a servant had brought her iced milk sweetened with honey and the oranges she liked. It was almost like being in paradise. She didn't know how would be able to return to her old life of hardship after enjoying such luxuries. The gardens and the library would be what I would miss most. That and the comfortable feather bed.

"Princess," a servant, no, a slave of the master approached with light steps. “The prince asks you. In Princess Daenerys's room.”

Of course, because she couldn't have a single moment of peace, even in the middle of that calm oasis.

The woman, who barely looked a few years older than her, bowed her head with demure modesty, was pretty, with deep green eyes, but almost everyone of them was pretty. She supposed that all men liked beautiful things to decorate their houses. She had never seen Illyrio or any of his guards mistreat the slaves, not as she had seen other men, including her uncle.They were all well dressed and fed, but that didn't change what they were.

In Westeros slavery was forbidden by law and was punishable by death, Sir Willem had taught her before he died, the old knight believed they should know everything possible about their home. In Braavos, a city founded by former escaped slaves and their first refuge, the idea of slavery disgusted them; neither traded nor made deals with slavers. That was where they had spent the first years of exile, in a stone house, with the door painted red and a lemon tree in the inner courtyard. To her the idea of slavery was uncomfortable, unpleasant. People should not wear chains.

In Pentos slavery was also prohibited by an agreement with Braavos, but the rich citizens of the upper classes had found ways to bend the laws in their favor. It seemed they always found a way.

She stood up, handing the book to the girl, she would take it back to the library, and headed back to the mansion.

Viserys was waiting in Daenerys's room. He must have been impatient, she had taken her time to get there, dragging her feet all the way through the overheated stones by the sun in the garden and then by the cold marble of the hallways, enjoying every moment of deliberate rebellion. He seemed annoying.

"Niece!" He greeted with a false jovial tone. He had a clenched fist, his face contracted in a tense grimace. His smile was false, a much worse interpreted than the one he dedicated to his host on his good days.

He didn't even bother to pretend he didn't despise her deeply. Her uncle never let her forget her poor mother's dornish blood, as if she should feel dirty about it, as if her Rhoynar heritage was something to be ashamed of. It made the noble blood of the Targaryen dirty, he said, the blood of Ancient Valyria.

Dragons had to stay pure, that's why they only married each other. They had maintained that practice for centuries, but their father, Rhaegar, elder brother of Viserys and Daenerys, had had no sister or cousin to marry. That was why he had married Elia Martell, princess of Dorne, a slight connection with the Martells had been enough at first. But it didn't last ... That's why her uncle hated her even more, and she hated him, she burned with rage every time he uttered insults about her late mother, she hated him so much. That was until she bleed the first time. 

She woke up in the middle of the night, they had got enough money to pay for a tiny room in an inn and Daenerys slept peacefully beside her, not realizing anything. Her stomach ached and her thighs were stained with crimson blood. The next morning, when her uncle discovered it, he sent Dany to play outside so he could speak alone with her, one of his cold hands on one of her bare knees, imprisoning her. They had talked about sex and the traditions of their family, he had told Rhaenys that if her inheritance were pure he would have taken her as a wife. She had never been more grateful for Dorne's blood running through her veins.

And as long as he considered her virgo to be more valuable intact she would be safe. But she couldn't say the same about Daenerys. She was pure dragon blood, daughter of King Aerys and Queen Rhaella, siblings, and Viserys was looking forward to continuing the despicable tradition of their ancestors.

Since the day Dany had had her first period two moons before she had not stopped being afraid.

Rhaenys had managed to hide it. When her young aunt, barely thirteen name days, had come to her in the middle of the night with tears in her eyes and a blood-stained nightgown she had not been able to bear the idea of Viserys touching her. She had thrown the sheets and the night clothes down the balcony of the room, directly towards the water of the bay, and had turned the mattress around hoping that nobody noticed. At the moment they had managed to keep the secret, but it was only a matter of time before any of the maids noticed any of the signs and informed their master. And she didn't doubt that Illyrio would use it in his favor.

She feared what would happen to Daenerys, how she would manage to protect herself, once Rhaenys was no longer there to help her because, for the first time, a man seemed willing to pay the price for her.

The magister had arranged a meeting between her uncle and Khal Drogo, if he liked what he saw would take her for his wife and lend his men to Viserys to begin the reconquest of the Seven Kingdoms. A princess for an army, she knew it was not an unusual deal. It must have seemed like a bargain to her uncle. It was perfect, if nothing went wrong, but they always seemed to do something wrong.

They could flee, she thought, as had done countless times over the years. They could steal some of the many treasures that adorned the great mansion and disappear from there, return to Braavos.

She almost smile. Sometimes she was as delusional as Viserys. Alone and helpless, at the mercy of anyone who wanted to take advantage of them, Daenerys and Rhaenys would not survive long. They would end up dead or raped, or kidnapped and sold by slavers. The possibilities were many and each one more horrible.

She looked at the slave who was waiting very still, stuck to the wall of the room as if trying to merge with it, looked at the nothing, her mind far from that place. She was an older woman, in the middle of her forties, with dark hair and strong jaw. She could afford a look of pride because she was one of Illyrio's trusted people. With an elevated position inside the house, in charge of the rest of the female servants, but still wearing the solid iron collar around her neck that marked her as a slave.

It reminded her the collars that some people put their dogs and the mere image of Daenerys wearing an equal one turned her stomach and suddenly erased every fantasy of escape from her head. Anything Viserys had prepared for them would be better than that.

Her gaze drifted to her aunt, she was sitting on a velvet stool, staring at the pale skirt of her dress. She seemed to believe that if she ignored her brother strongly enough he would disappear.

"You must prepare for tonight, dear niece," he said, approaching her. He forced her to look at him, holding her chin, fingers digging painfully into the skin. She looked him straight in the eye, they were the same bright violet as his sister's, but him’s were glassy and wide open. “I hope you like to him. You may prove not to be as useless as I had anticipated.”

He let go her face, gently stroking her hair, and left the room, leaving them with the maid. The woman made a gesture and two other slaves joined her, Rhaenys had not noticed when they arrived. One was the oldest of all the servants, small and hunched over, with wrinkled skin and very thin hair that was beginning to run out. The other was a young girl with golden hair that their host had obtained to warm Viserys' bed, and perhaps his own.

Daenerys approached her, leaning against the side of her body, while the women worked. She was trembling like a leaf. She had broken into tears, desperate, when Rhaenys had told her her brother's plan, completely horrified at the thought. Rhae had not had the courage to confess that at first Viserys had planned to offer herself as a future bride.

The maids prepared a bathtub with hot water that almost burned her skin with scented fragrant oils brought from the distant Yi Ti and the two younger women rubbed her body with cloths while the old woman brushed her hair until it was shiny. Daenerys waited patiently, back on her sidewalk nibbling almond and honey cookies, no doubt wanting to talk to her niece but not wanting to do it in front of the intruders.

But there was no lack of conversation. The blond-haired girl was busy filling the silence praising the many virtues of the khal, speaking of his great wealth, so many that his slaves wore gold necklaces and not the normal ones of bronze or iron, and expressing the great fortune of Rhaenys. She did not feel lucky.

When they finished scrubbing her, they dried and dressed her. It was a new dress, a deep purple that brought out the small violet specks of her dark eyes, had a low neckline beyond her sternum, the sleeves were bulging and translucent, dropped from the shoulders. It was not much more uncovered than most of her dresses, except for the extra centimeters of bare skin on her chest, and by no means approached the liberal fashion of Lys, where they had lived four moons the previous year. Despite that, Rhaenys felt naked, vulnerable.

Then they adorned her with jewels. A gold headband as a false crown on her loose hair, several clinking bracelets on each wrist, each one covered with onyx and amethyst stones, and finally a gold torque around the neck, with each tip of the necklace topped by a dragon head

When the women finished they held an oval mirror in front of her. It was not a bad vision, she thought. She did not have the valyrian features of her relatives that could be more interesting to the khal, but surely he would not have much to complain about. Her mother's dornish blood had been stronger than her father's, with dark hair instead of silver, just like her eyes, and sun-drenched skin. Her body was well proportioned, with thin and agile limbs and a medium height. Rhaenys knew she wasn't ugly.

Her eyes fell on the golden choker that adorned her neck. Khal Drogo's slaves also wore gold necklaces, the girl had told her. That would be her, she realized regretfully, a slave with a wife's title. But at the end of the day it was not that they were all wives? Simple slaves bought in exchange for loyalties and promises, from which a man can get rid as easily as an accusation of infidelity was made.

“You're so pretty!” exclaimed the young slave girl. “Like a real princess!”

She was a real princess. Maybe not a princess of the Seven Kingdoms, but a princess of Dorne, like her mother. They could never take that away from her, no matter how far hse had to flee or the hardships she passed, she was a descendant of Nymeria from Ny Sar.

“Can you leave us a moment?” she asked. The woman hesitated a moment before making a gesture to her companions.

She waited a few moments until was completely sure that they could not hear them. The loyalty of these women was to the magister and she did not trust him or his kindness. Daenerys also waited, until she noticed how her niece's shoulders relaxed, then threw herself into her arms.

Her cheeks were stained with tears that now fell freely, her eyes flushed.

"I don't want you to go!" she sobbed. "Don't do it! Do not do it please!"

Rhaenys stroked her silver hair, trying to calm her.

“I have to do it, Dany. I have to do it” she repeated, more for herself than for the girl. She had to do it if she didn't want to wake the dragon.

"No, no, please, Rhae," she pleaded. “What if he is cruel to you? What if it hits you?”

“He will not. Why would a warrior as capable as the khal beat a girl? He would only embarrass himself” she lied. She had seen many men beating women; guards, soldiers and mercenaries, their poor wives, servants, lovers and whores who could do nothing but endure the abuses. But none of that could compare to Viserys' anger if the alliance went wrong. She feared what he would be able to do more than she feared the khal.

Daenerys did not seem very convinced but made an effort to regain control of herself. Rhaenys wiped her tears.

Everything will be fine, she wanted to promise, but she couldn't do it. They had taught him that the promises were important; when you strip a man of all his possessions, all he has left is his word and his honor, breaking a promise knowingly, or making one that you know you won't be able to keep was wrong.

"What will happen when you marry the Khal?" She asked. “What will happen to me?”

Rhaenys didn't know what to answer. If the khal chose her and married her, she would have to follow him and his khalasar wherever he went, perhaps far from Pentos or any other city where Dany was. And what would happen when she wasn't there to take care of her? She didn't even want to imagine her sweet, young aunt facing the growing madness of Viserys alone.

“If the Khal accepts the alliance I will speak with him” that she could promise, that would do everything she could to protect her, so that they could continue together. “I will ask him if you can come with me.”

Daenerys's face lit up, a big smile appeared on her lips. No doubt the future no longer seemed so scary.

“For real? Do you think he will?” the questions flew from her mouth.

"I don't know, Daenerys, but I'll try." She paused for a moment. “Daenerys, don't tell Viserys.”

The two shared a look. No, they couldn't tell him anything.

“I will not, I promise” planted a kiss on the cheek of her niece and ran, with her silk skirt, a violet so pale it almost looked silvery, waving after her. The maids had prepared it before she arrived and her dress was also new, soft and fluid, sleeveless, with the straps fastened with silver brooches shaped like beautifully forged little dragons.

Rhaenys remained only one more moment in the room, before following her young aunt at the entrance of the mansion.

Viserys was already there, he had also been properly arranged and wore the family emblem on the chest of the doublet. At the hip carried a sword. It must have been borrowed, he had never been trained in the fight or possessed such a weapon.

He looked at her, judging.

“She is...”

“Magnificent” interrupted the magister. He was dressed even more opulently than usual, his beard, of straw color, had been separated and oiled into two parts; on each finger he wore a different ring topped by different precious stones; the long robe was profusely embroidered with gold thread.

All of this spoke of the immense wealth of the merchant, but it didn’t do much to masked his deteriorated body. She had heard that in his youth the man had been a portentously skilled swordsman of great beauty. Unfortunately the years had not been kind to the man, who was so fat that he could knock a horse down, luckily for the steeds of his stables the magister did not like riding, or perhaps he understood that it was not a proper hobby for him. His teeth were dark and rotten, he had lost some lower molars which was a disgrace because there was nothing he enjoyed more than eating, and when he walked a cloud of thick and cloying perfume he followed him everywhere.

“Really beautiful. A true princess” flattered her. “May the Lord of Light bless you on such a lucky day. You are a true divine vision, ” he assured to calm Viserys' obvious fears. “Drogo will love her.”

Viserys's frown deepened. He had the same silver hair as Daenerys, but his face was thin and hard where hers was all sweetness and youth. He looked like her father, she thought remembered, but she couldn't be sure. Rhaegar had died a long time ago, when she was just a little girl, and everything was too blurry, even her parents' face.

That life, when she was a princess in a red stone castle, and had a father and a mother and a brother that she adored, seemed only a dream.

“I'm not sure. She seems too common. Are you sure she will get attention of the khal?

“Of course, majesty. I assure you that there is nothing in her that seems simple to the khal,” he said, placing a sweaty hand on her shoulder. “Look at her well, she has a dignified profile, she has the appearance of a queen. And beautiful eyes. No doubt the khal will be delighted with her, I assure you.”

"I hope so," he said, and to Rhaenys it sounded like a threat. She didn't want to think about what would happen otherwise, Viserys' anger was a terrifying possibility, but that he could try again with Dany scared her even more.

Illyrio called the porters with a couple of claps. They came running, carrying a litter profusely decorated with carvings and painted gold. The slaves were ten strong men who were bare-chested and had to help their master to get on the stretcher not without much difficulty. She felt sorry for them that had to bear the weight of the master. Inside they were all very tight, the air charged by the expensive perfumes of the master who could barely cover the stench of sweat.

It was already night. The streets were almost empty but they moved slowly, guided by two servants carrying tinted glass lamps.

Daenerys was on one side, leaning against her, head against her shoulder. The poor girl should have already had dinner and be preparing to get into bed, not on her way to an unknown place to party with strangers. Viserys was on the other side, lying against the brocaded pillows, fiddling with the jeweled handle of his sword. He didn't seem to know at all well what exactly to do with it, fiddling with nervousness. He looked through the heavy curtains that closed the litter, toward the dark streets.

"I won't need all the khalassar," he said in a whisper, Rhaenys knew he didn't talk to them. Most of the time he didn't need anyone to support his plans, himself was enough to plan imaginary wars. “With ten thousand men will be enough. Yes, ten thousand will be enough. Many will return with their rightful king, the Tyrell, the Redwyne and the Greyjoy. And Dorne, the dornish are willing to avenge Elia and her son.”

Aegon, Rhaenys thought. His name was Aegon, her sweet little brother, her little dragon prince, torn from her mother's chest and killed by lions.

She remembered perfectly the day he was born. The first thing she had done when saw the baby had been to extend her hands so that the babysitter would deliver her the child. She herself was just a baby but had become an older sister and knew that meant she had to take care of him.

She had only said one thing when they helped her hold the child between her plump little arms:

“My baby!”

And now he was dead. He and their mother had been brutally murdered for her father's crimes. And his murderers, who were running free, had ascended to her grandfather's throne using their shattered bodies as steps, crowning themselves with their bones and anointing themself with their blood.

Daenerys's hand briefly squeezed hers. She must notice her grief.

"Of course, majesty," said Magister Illyrio, despite not being necessary, the magister was always eager to encourage Viserys. “Your people await you, praying every day for your soon return. Throughout the kingdom, in every town and every city, men toast for your health and women embroider dragons on cloths, waiting to raise the banners the day you cross the Narrow Sea. Or so my sources tell me.”

Rhaenys didn't think they could trust a single word the man said. Every day, since he received them in his house, he had done nothing but please them; arranging meetings between Viserys and different mercenary companies, giving gifts to them and enduring every tantrum of her uncle without ever losing his composure or the friendly smile. And if something she had learned over the years in the streets was that nobody gives anything without expecting to receive something in return. The master wanted something and, as long as she did not know exactly what he expected to get from them, she could not trust even a little. And she didn't trust even one of the sweet words that came out of his mouth when he tried to entertain Viserys.

In Westeros they hated her grandfather, they feared him, they would not have revealed themselves against him if they had not. She had feared him too.

He had rarely been in the presence of the old king. He had come to despise her mother and hate her for the same reasons as his son, her unworthy dornish blood. They called him the Mad King, she had learned that much after their exile, that and his love for fire. Sir Willem had told her when she was seven years old, she didn't know it then but the knight didn't have much life left and he had think she would need to know as much as possible about her lineage. Having known all that, it seemed unlikely that the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms would follow the one they called King Beggar.

"I'll take care of the Usurper myself," he said. Another unlikely thing, Viserys had never killed anyone and Robert Baratheon was a formidable warrior, enough to crush her father's chest with his war hammer. “And I will also kill the Kingslayer.”

Rhaenys clenched her fists tightly, but Viserys didn't notice.

“Without doubt that would be the most appropriate, majesty” Illyrio gave him the reason.

He looked away again, recreating with satisfaction the deaths of his enemies in his head. Khal Drogo's mansion appeared in sight, at the edge of the bay, crowned by nine tall towers.

The magisters used to give similar gifts to the khals so that they would not attack their cities or interrupt their trade routes. Why go to war when you can buy friendship.

A guard stopped them at the door, she knew it was not dothraki because he wore armor that protected his chest and helmet, the horsemen despised that kind of protection. They considered them cowardly things, she had read it in the mansion's extensive library. He spoke with the master in the language of the Dothraki.

Rhaenys forced her ear, trying to understand something, but she did not resemble in the least the Valyrian or the dialects of it spoken in Essos. Nor to the common language of Westeros. It was rough and abrupt.

Viserys clenched his jaw, annoyed at the interruption of the guard.

“There are many important guests tonight and the Khal must ensure everyone's protection. Yours above all , highness. ”said Illyrio in a conciliatory tone. “The Usurper could take advantage of the occasion to threaten your life.”

Rhae watched with fascination as the merchant handled his uncle like a minstrel to a well-tuned lute. As fast as it came, the anger went away.

“Yes, of course. It is not the first time it happens. His murderers follow us wherever we go” that's why they never stayed anywhere. They had gone from Braavos to Myr, then to Tyrosh, Qohor, Volantis and Lys before finishing in Pentos. “I am the last dragon and will not be able to live in peace until he ends me.”

The last dragon, that was called himself. He must have thought that the two of them, Daenerys and her, were nothing more than simple lizards.

They entered the great mansion, decorated with stained glass windows and marble and ivory statues. The slaves did not wear gold necklaces, she realized, they were bronze, but she still felt the suffocating weight of the metal surrounding her neck.

An eunuch announced their arrival:

“Viserys of the House Targaryen , the third of his name, king of the andals, the rhoynar and the first men, lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Kingdom. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, princess of Dragonstone. His niece, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, magister of the Free City of Pentos.”

They went to the large courtyard where people gathered, attended by slaves. There were many dothraki, with skin darker than her own and dark hair in long braids in which bells were interwoven and that clinked every time they moved. Also bravos dressed in bright colors, men of the Summer Islands with ebony skin, silk-covered merchants and even a priest of the god of light, R’hllor, even fatter than the magister. Men, she noted, each and every one of them, and looked for Dany's hand.

She shook it, as nervous as her niece. She had also noticed that they were the only women.

"Those are the Bloodriders of Drogo, and there is Khal Moro, along with his son." Illyrio explained, pointing with a discreet chin gesture to the men mentioned. “And next to the man with the beard is Jorah Mormont.”

"A knight?" Daenerys asked.

“Exactly. Anointed with the seven oils by the very High Septone” said Illyrio, in a confidential tone.

The man was nothing like the old and half-blind Sir Willem. The old man had ended up bedridden the last months of his life but had always been terrifying until the last of his days, controlling the servants with an iron hand, shouting orders from his mortuary bed. Despite his fearsome character, he had always been sweet to her and Dany, calling them little princesses and telling them all the stories they wanted, sometimes she still missed him. Nor did he resemble the golden knight she dreamed at times. He had done it the night before, she ran after him but never reached it, never saw his face. It always seemed to appear more frequently when some harm beset her.

That man was old but not an elder, he might be as old as her father if he would have lived, and he was strong, with broad shoulders and back. His hair was blond, or perhaps grizzled brown, and he had a long face covered by a poorly maintained beard. He wore westerosi clothes, a very worn green cloth doublet with a black bear in full attack stitched to the chest, a sturdy thing, nothing from the silks and velvet that his uncle wore. Rhaenys knew that he was a true warrior, there was nothing impractical in his image, nothing that spoke of luxuries and whims.

Mormont had called him Illyrio. She wanted to know to which of the kingdoms that house belonged but had not learned it, she only knew the main rulers and some of their most prominent vassals. And the dornish houses. She didn't remember studying any of that, but he knew that if someone would place a map of the Seven Kingdoms in front of her, she could place each one in her ancestral home.

Viserys only bothered to remember the names of those who had been faithful to the Targaryen during the rebellion and of those whom he would execute when he was king. He had tried to teach them these things many years ago, but they had soon stopped having the time and money to lose by educating their both.

“What is he doing here?”

“He is also an exile. The Usurper wanted to execute it. He sold poachers to slavers instead of handing them over to the Night's Watch, Ithink. A real nonsense, each one should do what he pleases on his land,” he explained, making her shudder. “Come, the Khal is here.”

He led them to another part of the courtyard.

She followed, feeling the look of Viserys perched on the back of her neck. Daenerys's hand, clutching hers with all her strength, held her steady, helping her control the trembling of her body.

The Khal was older than her for a decade at least and the tallest man in the room. He wore his bare chest, with blue markings on his broad shoulders, and dark pants held by a gold coin belt that surrounded his hips several times. His hair was fastened by a long braid interwoven with clinking bells, so long it passed past his buttocks, brushing the back of the thighs. The Dothraki put a bell in their hair for each victory and only cut it after a defeat. Khal Drogo had never cut his braid.

His face was hard, his eyes cold. Rhaenys began to tremble with more violence. She never thought that could fear a man more than she feared the wrath of Viserys but the khal was terrifying in a way that her uncle could never be.

She should have run away, gone with Dany. It would be better to take the risk out there alone than to be married to such a man, she thought frantically. They were smart, they could have survived, disappeared among the thousands of travelers who traveled Essos and lived a simple life. It was already late, she had no escape.

The master left to pay his respects to the Khal as she struggled to contain her panic. She had to calm down, remember why she did it.

It was she or Dany, she still had clearly heard Viserys threats when she tried to take the idea of marriage from her head. The slap had hurt, but not as much as his words:

_< < If is necessary, I would have to be her fucked by all the Khalasar, niece, the forty thousand men one after another, and also their horses if with that I get my army. >>_

Rhaenys had cried at that, of horror and fear but also of sorrow. That phrase had been like a sentence. Now she knew for sure that old Viserys, her eternal playmate and only friend, was dead. Madness had consumed him, as it had consumed his father and as he had begun to consume his brother before Robert Baratheon crushed his chest with his war hammer.

She had no choice but to go for the help of the magister. She had felt bad every moment he had been begging for help, she knew it was like throwing herself to the wolves but she didn't know what else could do. And it had worked because her uncle had changed Dany for her thanks to the merchant's manipulations. She did not know what ploy he had employed, perhaps he had alluded to Daenerys' young age or perhaps to his need of a worthy wife when he took the throne, but it had worked. For the moment.

Illyrio made a gesture. He wanted her to get close, but she just wanted to turn around and run away. Daenerys squeezed her hand tighter, until her fingers began to ache, as if she couldn't let her go. She feared she really wouldn't let her go when she started walking, and for a brief moment she didn't, but, after a quick glance, she let it slip out of her grip. Her eyes were full of unshed tears.

She stopped next to the magister. The khal was rising above her, a huge and lethal mass of muscles that could destroy her in a single blow without even unsheathing the curved sword that he wore at his waist.

He watched her closely, with the thick eyebrows furrowed in a hard frown. Rhaenys felt like a horse in the market, waiting for a possible owner to decide if paying the price was worth it. The horses lord, looked away and left without saying a single word.

She looked at Illyrio, confused. Her heart was beating violently inside her chest.

“What is it?” she asked scared, watching as Viserys approached quickly, his face twisted in a grimace. “Has he rejected me?”

“What happened!? What have you done!” demanded her uncle, gripping her arm tightly.

“Don't worry, my king” Illyrio appease him. “If he had not liked her we would know. He have to start making wedding preparations.”

She felt her throat clench.

“Then there will be a wedding?”

“Yes, princess. Soon.”


	2. Under the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys got married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter contains description of rape. If that triggers you proceed carefully. If you want to avoid it you may not read the last part of the chapter.

After buying Rhaenys Khal Drogo he left the city to go in search of the rest of his khalasar. He had left all but his most trusted warriors in the great grasslands nearby. They returned a few days later, she and Dany saw him from the top of a tower, they were as scared as fascinated; the forty thousand warriors, women, children and slaves. They arrived wrapped in a cloud of dirt and dust, preceded by the thunderous sound of their horses' hooves.

His presence there did not please the population of the city. They doubled the guard, as if that could have stopped the Dothraki as if that had stopped them of take Pentos in they had wanted. Nothing, Rhaenys thought upon seeing them, could have stopped them if they had wanted to take the city

Jorah Mormont had sworn allegiance to her uncle, him in return had promised to return his land to him when they returned to the Seven Kingdoms. The knight seemed to believe in him as little as she did so he wondered what his reasons were to join a king without a crown and no army. But, whatever their reasons, he had already proved useful, at least for Rhaenys. He had traveled tirelessly through the Free Cities and his information seemed accurate and reliable. She preferred to take her questions about the Dothraki to him than to magister Illyrio.

When the wedding had to be delayed because of her moonblood Viserys began to get impatient although she thought it was a small and welcomed postponement for her execution.  
The magister tried to convince him that it was necessary. It was essential for the Dothrakis that the marriage be consummated and they could not do it if she bled, he did not want to understand it and she preferred not to think about the wedding night whenever possible.

After the wedding the Khal would take her to the sacred city of the Dothraki to present her to the widows of other Khals and the idea of having to wait even longer made her uncle squirm.

Every day that passed he was more irascible, insulting his allies without worrying about it, demanding his army despite the warnings of Sir Jorah and Illyrio. The Dothrakis did things their own way, when and how they wanted; Khal Drogo would pay his debt, but only when he considered it appropriate to do so.

She preferred to avoid his company whenever possible. His presence was scarier than it had been in a long time, since they had reached Pentos and magister's influence had temporarily tempered his character. Now he was always on the verge of another screaming attack. She was hiding in the mansion's library or in the gardens with Dany, places he didn't frequent.

Fear continued to grow within her, but it forced herself to hideit, she could not show weakness.

The last night, her last night as a single woman, was spent with Dany. Embraced tightly even during sleep, despite her best attempts the girl had not endured awake all she wanted. Rhaenys, however, could barely rest. When she finally fell asleep it was only to dream of the golden knight.

They ran down a narrow, dark corridor, he held her wrist with one hand and in the other an unsheathed sword. Under her bare feet the ground was damp and slippery but the knight did not loosen the step a bit and she forced herself to hurry more to stay with him. The corridor went on and on endlessly, so long that it didn't end as much as it ran, and in it there were screams, terrifying screams of women accompanied by a distant crying chorus. The screams were coming and she didn't want to turn and look, she knew she wouldn't like what she saw. The darkness closed more and more around, blinding them. They ran and ran until the passage ended, a stone wall cutting their way. Rhaenys searched frantically, but there was no other way out, they were trapped, the monsters were getting closer and closer. The knight stepped forward, putting himself in front of her sword in hand, ready to face danger.

She woke up with rapid breathing as if she had really been running. It was still night, but weddings began with dawn and ended until sunset.

The slaves were in the room, ready to start preparing all.

Pecked of the food trays that were brought to her while she was bathing. Fresh fruit, cut into pieces, cooked and cold eggs sprinkled with pepper, almond cakes and mint tea. Daenerys woke up just as they brought her milk and porridge sweetened with honey and sprinkled with brown sugar and did not hesitate to devour them as if she had been starving for a week. Rhae had to force herself to swallow the food, each bite choked before going down. She only did it because did not know that they would serve during the wedding and did not want to end up fainting from hunger, that would enrage her uncle.

They combed her hair, pulling it away from her face with braids that were then hold with gold pins. Then they put on her dress, a very pale violet, almost white. It was silk, so thin that she feel naked. The only jewels with which they adorned her were two silver bracelets carved with runes that she did not know. They were not Valyrians, perhaps Dothraki.

Daenerys also wore a new light blue dress, more demure than hers, adorned with her dragon brooches. She also wore a pearl ring that had belonged to her mother, Queen Rhaella. It was one of the few things they still had from her. Rhaenys envied her, wished she had something to remember her own mother.

"You're beautiful, Dany," she said, and the girl turned a couple of times so she could see the dress well. Skirts fluttered around her and her smile grew. It seemed beautiful that she could find happiness in such a simple act.

When the first lights of dawn began to emerge on the horizon they guided her to the entrance of the mansion, where Viserys and Illyrio were already waiting for them next to the litter

“It was time! Let's go!” ordered her uncle, turning to the litter.

"You're beautiful, princess," the merchant entertained her. “I must remind you of the importance of rejecting the ceremonial gifts of the bloodriders of the Khal. It is vital that you do it correctly.”

He had spent many hours explaining with great care how the wedding ceremony would take place, all seasoned with jugs of wine and sweets, but that was not a surprise, it was never long before the master had any of those things in his hand. There was that she was likely to see a lot of blood and sex throughout the evening. The Dothraki had a relaxed concept of modesty and intimacy, which meant they had none.

The most important part of that learning had been the proper way to refuse the gifts of her future husband's bloodriders so as not to offend his people. She had spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, practicing the words in the Dothraki language over and over until the pronunciation was perfect, or almost perfect, everything she could achieve.

The wedding was held in a camp on the outskirts of the city as all the important events in the life of a Dothraki man were to pass outdoors, with the sun and the moon as witnesses. For the occasion, large constructions of woven grass had been erected and carpets and low tables were placed for the guests. In addition to the people of the Khalasar, illustrious citizens of Pentos and other cities had arrived, wishing to seize the opportunity to devote themselves to the Khal.

Presiding over the celebration was a large platform of stepped earth and wood that was staggered, and at the top of the improvised pyramid was Khal Drogo.

She already knew that a ceremony would not be held as such, neither votes nor shared promises as they did in Westeros. They would celebrate the party to announce the union and at night they would consummate it and be considered husband and wife in the eyes of the Dothraki.

The festivities had already begun when they arrived, escorted for Sir Jorah and the magister Illyrio. In the very center, entertaining the guests who drank copiously, was a group of women who danced sparsely dressed, using orange and yellow veils as the light of dawn.

Everything stopped when she descended from the litter. The dancers moved discreetly and the conversations quieted down even though she saw people whisper. Everyone looked at her.

He joined the Khal at the top of the platform, he had stood up to receive her and did not take a seat in his chair until she took her place in the chair beside her. Her uncles and companions were accommodated on the step immediately below theirs, at the level of the bloodriders of the Khal, which was an immense honor despite the grimace of Viserys.

A maid brought her a bronze cup full to the edge with a thick white liquid with an acid smell. Fermented mare's milk, although she did not realize until she had taken the first sip; was forced to swallow it anyway. It had lumps and almost choked. The party started again.

The food began to arrive in large quantities, offered first to the couple and then to those who sat under them, which bothered Viserys even more. Roasted pork and horse meat, heavily spiced, blood sausages and black pudding cake first; Dothraki dishes. Then Pentos recipes, roast duck with candied oranges, chicken with vegetables, honey-covered fruits and dough snacks stuffed with dates and pine nuts.

She watched as Dany gladly devoured every candy that lay ahead, enjoying all of them without worrying about her fingers smeared with syrup or how her brother macerated his disgust with the wine that Illyrio had commanded to take. She forced herself to take small bites of meat sips from the fermented milk so as not to seem ungrateful, although each one seemed like a handful of sand coming down her throat.

She felt that Daenerys, whom Illyrio entertained with pleasure with all kinds of stories and explanations, was having a good time. The master had also asked to bring the girl a cold mint drink without alcohol. Usually Rhaenys just let her have a glass of wine and only if the occasion required it. Presumably, her wedding would count as an occasion special enough but Daenerys herself did not enjoy the bitterness of the wine too much.

She desperately wanted to be by her side. Down there, she could talk to her and listen to Illyrio's stories, at the top of the pyramid she felt very lonely, and was bored. The Khal was shouting with his riders, sharing laughter and pointing at the dancers. From time to time he threw a coin to the ground and the women fought over it, tearing off the few clothes they were wearing. He had not looked at her since her arrival. However, even if he had expressed the slightest interest in her, they would have had no way of communicating. She wonder if that would be their whole marriage. Somehow she wasn't sure if the perspective repelled or comforted her.

Soon, to her horror and shame, some men began to take women in plain sight, bending them over their hands and knees and riding them like the horses they loved so much.

A step below her Daenerys tried to ignore the vulgar spectacle, not knowing exactly where to look.

The first man died before noon. Two men fought for one woman, the curved arakhs that they wore at the waist were unsheathed and began to move in a circle, measuring the forces of their opponent. One of them, who looked younger and wore the shortest braid, launched the first lunge; his rival easily deflected and counterattacked. He struck an upward blow and his weapon sank into the other man's flesh just above the hip, easily cracking it. His guts scattered and he fell to the ground, still alive. It didn't last long. Daenerys shrieked when she saw him fall, but no one paid attention; people cheered and laughed. The slaves took the body, leaving a disgusting blood stain behind.

She watched the disgusting spectacle, without being able to take her eyes off the violent vision. Dany struggled to hold back her tears, Viserys seemed divided, disgusted and fascinated.

A Dothraki wedding in which at least three people did not die was considered boring. Twelve died in Rhaenys'.

When the sun began to descend the music and the conversations stopped. A strange climate spread among the guests, the party was gone; It was time for gifts.

She stood by the Khal as his blood riders advanced. Haggo offered her a leather whip, Cohollo an arakh and Qotho a long bow. She declined the three offerings with the words she had been taught, feeling awkward and stupid despite all the practice.

“It is a gift worthy of a great warrior, oh blood of my blood, and I am a simple woman. May my husband receive them in my place”

Drogo received the gifts pleased.

Viserys and Daenerys arrived later. She was given three slaves, one was older than her and clearly not a dothraki, her skin was too pale, probably Illyrio had bought it for her; the other were dothraki, one was smaller and thinner, surely younger, the other, with more prominent curves, had very curly hair. Ser Jorah presented to her a box full of old books and scrolls written in common language.

"From your homeland, Khaleesi," said the knight. “They are not much, but an exile can not afford more.”

"They are more than enough," she said with a smile, stroking the leather loins. The man bowed his head respectfully.

Illyrio's servants placed a large carved chest on the platform. Inside, on a soft bed, there were three large eggs covered with scales. Rhaenys bent down to catch one, black and red. It weighed and was soft to the touch, releasing sparkles in the light of the setting sun.

"Dragon eggs," said the magister.” I thought it was a nice detail. They are petrified, of course, but still beautiful.”

“You're right, it's a beautiful gift. I will treasure them.”

She put the egg back in the chest, between green and bronze and white and gold. Viserys looked at them with envy. He must think that a gift like that was only worthy of a true dragon and that she didn't deserve it.

The gifts kept coming from the rest of the khalasar and many others who had sent treasures to ingratiate themselves with the great Khal Drogo. Dozens of rolls of fine fabrics, soft skins of various animals, bronze and gold medallion belts, jewelry, boxes full of perfume bottles and oils that piled in piles around them. Also a chest full of snakes that its bearer proudly taught, a headdress of colored feathers and a long and curved bronze horn.

The last gift was that of the Khal, who brought her to the center of the field before the expectant gaze of all present. It was a thin and lovely mare, immaculate white; someone had bothered to braid their mane. She extended a hand, leaning it against the animal's nose, which allowed itself to be caressed meekly.

“A khaleesi must have a mount worthy of her rank” explained Illyrio.

The Khal held her by the waist, lifting her over the chair. She let herself be done, holding on and putting her feet in shoes with sandals inside the stirrups.

“What do I do now?” she asked nervously.

“You must ride. You don't need to go too far” Sir Jorah instructed her.

She had ridden in small ponies in her house, in the Red Keep, under the watchful eye of babysitters and guards, and then again when was older in some of their refuge, but much time had happened since then.

She grabbed the reins and the mare got underway, step first and then jog. She guided her by making a wide circle around the Khal. The Dothraki encouraged her, stepping out of her way, commenting while some children kept running after the horse. Their spirits emboldened her. She spurred the mare, which began to gallop. The shrieks of joy grew louder, some cheered. Overwhelmed by her immense new husband was Dany, jumping on the toes of her feet and giving shrieks every time she accelerated the horse or turned it sharply.

She rode for a few minutes, without hearing the noise that surrounded her, without noticing the people watching her. For a few moments it was just her and the horse, running, flying, far away. After a some moments of showing off, turning around unnecessarily, she stopped her mount and returned to the Khal. For the first time he looked at her with something like satisfaction.

"Can you thank him?" she asked Ser Jorah, panting.

"I'm sorry, the Dothraki don't have a word for thanks," he replied.

That seemed the least practical, although she did not disagree with what had learned about the folk.

“Then can you tell him that it is a beautiful gift?”

The man translated her words. A tiny smile appeared on the Khal's lips, it did seem a little less scary; It wasn't much, but it gave her hope. He shouted something and brought his horse, a dark and immense stallion.

While the khal was riding Viserys approached her and grabbed her by the calf with all his strength, he would bruise her.

"Do it right," he warned, "or you'll see the dragon wake up."

She was about to kick him away, but if she did it he would only get angry and pay with Dany.  
She tore her leg from his grip and followed the Khal, trotting behind him across the vast plain as the moon began to rise. They left the people far behind, riding until the fires and noises disappeared and they were only two alone in the company of the stars that began to emerge in the sky.

Rhaenys felt like vomiting and was grateful to have a half-empty stomach. She knew what would happen that night, what had to happen for the transaction to be completed, Viserys had explained it in great detail and also Illyrio's slaves. But she remembered better the talk he had had with the owner of the inn where they had stayed the first time she had her moonblood, that woman was the only one who had given her words that sounded true, but even that did not get make her less afraid. Rhaenys remembered her with love.  
She was from Volantis and had a large burn scar on one cheek, she had smiled at her with tenderness and helped her without hesitation.

She had a lump in her throat and didn't think she could speak even if wanted to, luckily the Khal didn't want to talk; It wasn't that they could understand each other if they did.

They rode for a long time until they reached a small stream in a meadow. He dismounted and began preparing a bed while his horse drank in the river.

She sat on the chair a few more moments watching the Khal put blankets and skins on the grassy ground, but every moment she spent looking at that bed made her feel worse.

She slipped from the mare, falling to the ground with a thud. Her legs were weak and seized and she could not straighten again. A pair of strong hands grabbed her by the waist and lifted her on ruffles as if she weighed nothing. The Khal handled it easily but also with surprising delicacy but it didn't make her feel better, it just made her feel more vulnerable.

He placed her carefully on the soft blankets and she began to tremble violently. She didn't want to be there, she wanted to go home with Dany,she he wanted to go home but she didn't have a home. They had taken away Dragonstone, the island on which she was born but from which remembered nothing, and also the Red Keep that her ancestors had built. The house of Braavos had not lasted long either, although it had more memories of its old cobblestone yard and its walls covered with ivy than of the west palaces, and the Pentos mansion had only been a temporary refuge, like many others before. The Khal would not give her a home either, the Dothraki had no houses, they did not stay in the sites, they went from one place to another making war, looting and fighting.

She wanted to cry. She almost did it, hre eyes were full of tears and her body trembled, waiting to explode, but she couldn't allow it. She would not cry, she must be strong, she must do her duty.

“I'm not going to cry” she said in a very low voice, just a whisper pronounced at night that no one else would listen.

The sooner everything finished better, she said to herself, starting to slide the straps to take off her dress.

“No” the Khal stopped her hands. She froze. He pushed her hands away slowly, surprised that he had spoken to her in the common language.

“Do you speak my language?” she asked.

“Do not.”

"Is that the only word you know?" she asked mockingly again.

“No” he repeated.

“I guess you mean yes.”

Although he didn't understand her, seemed pleased that she talked to him. Without losing sight of her, he passed the long braid over his shoulder and began to take off the bells, carefully stepping aside. When he finished, the braid was undone, combing his long dark hair with his fingers. She waited until it was over and only then did he turn his attention to her and began undressing her. The silk fell from her arms and piled around her waist, her breasts were exposed. The nipples hardened from the cold air, she blushed to her ears and wanted to cover herself, but forced not to.  
He held her face in his hands, making her look at him. They stayed that way for a moment until he joined his lips with hers. She could feel his contained strength, but he was delicate with her, as he had been every time he had touched her.

She stood up and the dress fell definitively, leaving her naked before the man's hungry eyes. He began to touch her, leaving a trail of goosebumps where his rough fingers passed. From the shoulders he went to the full breasts, gently pinching the dark nipples, making her feel strange. She felt the moisture between her legs and although knew it was good, it made her feel ashamed. He kept going down, counting the ribs with his fingers as he kissed her jaw and neck.

She gasped when he made her lie on the blankets. He stroked her hips and thighs and then between her legs, burying her fingers in her moisture. She tried not to squirm because of the discomfort. He smiled, gave her another passionate kiss and turned her around, placing her on his hands and knees.

The Dothraki took their women like that, as the horses rode the mares. She had seen it during the celebrations and Illyrio had warned her. She hated it and at the same time he felt grateful, so the Khal could not see how he bit his lip and struggled not to cry.

He stood behind her, his presence a scorching heat against her back. She felt small, very small. A single lonely tear fell to the ground when he entered her and she felt stupid and weak, it had taken so little to break her promise. The pain gripped her, it was too much, too big and too sudden; she wasn't ready. It burned and felt unnaturally stretched. He waited a moment for her to get used to the intrusion but it didn't help. He started pumping inside her, growling like a bear, hands clinging to her hips.

He accelerated the pace of his attacks, chasing his own pleasure without pause. Her arms failed and she was about to face herself on the ground. The tears kept falling.

One more blow and a loud growl and the Khal seed spilled into her gut. It was already, comforted herself, it was over. He pulled away from her, rolling on his back. She took a quick look, he was lying with one arm behind his head, the other hand resting on the stomach; he seemed satiated.

She waited, in case he told her something or turned to her, but didn't move. Very slowly she lay on one side, turning her back on her new husband. She felt cold and exhausted. She wanted someone to hug her and comfort her, but it didn't seem like Khal Drogo was going to do that soon so she snuggled over herself and waited for the dream to claim her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a while but here is the second chapter. It also has my first sexual description so I hope it hasn't been bad.  
> Extra detail, the innkeeper who helped Rhaenys after her first menstruation was a slave escaped from Volantis and the burn on her cheek a self-inflicted wound to get rid of a tattoo.  
> In the next chapter we will see the first days of Rhaenys and Dany among the Dothraki.   
> I also wish you could suggest names for dragons.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all who have read and apologize for any orthographic or grammatical error, there are probably many, English is not my first language and it cost me a bit. Any comments or constructive criticism will be very welcome.  
> If you want to ask questions, suggestions or comments you can also find me on my Tumblr @adeocs .


End file.
